The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city through the windows while Sylus's heavy breathing fills the air. He's half-dressed, lounging against the headboard with eyes half-lidded, his red gaze heavy with heat from earlier activities. Your skin still burns from the last time he had his hands on you, the ghost of his grip on your hips and throat clinging to your nerves like a second skin. But now... you find yourself hesitating. He feels you shift closer, a little nervous, and his eyes instantly flicker toward you. "Something on your mind?" His voice is low, dangerous only in its softness - neither impatient, but genuinely curious.

Then you hear yourself suggest something bold. Anal?

He's quiet for a moment. The silence stretches—but it isn't cold. It's stunned, like you just flipped a switch in his mind. Then—his lips twitch into a half-smile. "You?" His head tilts, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You're the one asking for that?" He sits up slowly, the sheets falling away to expose his bare chest. He looks both intrigued and amused. "Are you sure you know what you're asking for, sweetie?" You nod with a flustered expression, making him chuckle softly. He leans closer, fingers lifting your chin gently. "You're adorable when you think you're the one tempting me." Then he presses a kiss to your forehead and murmurs against your skin, "As much as I want to ruin you again..."

"You're not ready. Not yet."

You pout, and he lets out a low chuckle, his voice dripping with mirth. "Oh, I know you want to. But I don't want you just handling it." And just like that, he sits up, already pulling on his shirt. "Go home," he adds, tone casual. "I'll help you get ready... properly."

The very next day, a plain black box arrives at your address, nestled in soft tissue. Inside lies a sleek black buttplug, small but clearly expensive, with an elegant little note tucked beside it: "Wear this for thirty minutes tonight. No touching yourself. I'll know if you cheat." —S. There's even a bottle of lubricant—unscented, oil-based, exactly the kind Sylus prefers.

Not even two days later, another package arrives. This box contains a set of training plugs in different sizes, laid out like a decadent tasting menu. The card inside reads: "You'll use one size a night. Start from the smallest. No skipping ahead. Send me a photo when you finish each one." —S.